


before i even knew what love was (you were there)

by sinningjul (Julx3tte)



Series: Sylvgrid NSFW Weekend [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Break Up, Exes to Lovers, F/M, Grief, Happy Ending, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Smut, Team Sin, absolutely goddamn filthy, actually just very full of feelings and growth, gratuitous and disgusting, hands tag, please hydrate thouself before reading, soft, soft fic i promise, sylvgrid NSFW weekend, sylvgrid nsfw weekend prompt 1: teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25498114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julx3tte/pseuds/sinningjul
Summary: Above her, Ingrid saw the indigo sky filled with clouds, and focused on what few stars were visible. Felix’s voice startled her.“It’s… his brother died yesterday. We just heard the news but Dimitri and I are out of Faerghus till next week. Sylvain just got sent home, he’ll be in Fhirdiad tomorrow morning.”or: six months after breaking up, Ingrid gets a message to call Sylvain. Feat. Gratuitous Feelings and a whole lot of NSFW.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Sylvgrid NSFW Weekend [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847143
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39
Collections: Sylvgrid NSFW weekend 2020





	before i even knew what love was (you were there)

**Author's Note:**

> please, please drink some water or something before reading this?

###  **_Six Months ago:_ **

* * *

“No, Ingrid, I don’t want to end it like this.” Sylvain irritatingly buried a hand in his bright red hair and refused to meet her eyes. “I’m tired of fighting.” He sounded tired, more tired than she’d heard him in a long time. 

He was already bundled up, scarf wrapped around his neck and ready to leave the hotel room they’d put her up in for the night.

Ingrid crossed her arms over her chest, digging her fingernails into her shoulders, ready to argue. “Sylvain, wait, that’s not what I-”

But the look on his face made Ingrid drop her voice. He was right. Their experiment, of figuring out whether they’d be able to be a couple or be involved with each other in more than friendship wasn’t working.

Ingrid took a breath to steel herself and continued. “I- … maybe you’re right. Obviously we can’t seem to figure this out,” she said, hiding the remorse from her voice. 

Sylvain, who was standing just too far away from where she sat on the bed for her to touch, circled in place and faced her. “I just don’t want our last act as us to be fighting again,” he said, frowning. “It’s okay if we can’t make this work.”

If she were being honest, she didn’t want to. She still loved him, still enjoyed the times when they weren’t stuck arguing about what to do and how to spend the ever dwindling time they had together before the rest of their lives began. 

Who would have thought that almost two decades of friendship would only make it harder to be together? But he’d stopped needing her, and what use was she as a friend if she couldn’t be there for him? It felt like the breath was leaking from her lungs as she watched him slide his arms into his coat.

She felt bare, and cold. Ingrid had already changed into her sleepwear, planning to stay in and order room service and spend a last night with Sylvain before heading out to training. 

“It’s over then?” she said, blinking tears.

Sylvain took a half step towards her, unsure whether to reach out and take her hand. “Love you forever Ing,” he said, fist curled so tight it looked like the skin would break. 

Ingrid linked her pinkies together as a sign and pulled until she could feel them turning white. “Forever, Sylvain.”

A smile broke through his face. It was barely a smile, more of an attempt to even out the deep frown on his face. It was the same look he gave when he knew she was right about something he didn’t want to be wrong about. 

Then Sylvain shut the door behind him and Ingrid threw herself back against the hotel room mattress. 

###  **_Now:_ **

* * *

Ingrid’s phone buzzed in her pocket half a mile into her walk around the barracks. Her unit was on off duty for the next week and she’d taken to using short walks to clear her mind. The air was cool and crisp but still warm enough that she couldn’t see her breath forming. One perk of being so far south - autumn remained moderate and beautiful.

She took the phone out of her pocket and picked up immediately after seeing the caller ID. 

“Felix?” she asked. Wasn’t he out on a trip with Dimitri? Why was he calling?

“Hey Ing,” he said. His voice came through patchy and hurried, and stopped Ingrid in her tracks. “You should call Sylvain.” 

All of the tension she’d hoped to work off doubled at mention of Sylvain, and Ingrid gripped the phone a little tighter.

“Why?” She let the question hang in the air, and Felix took a moment to respond. The silence he used when he was trying to find the right words. Above her, Ingrid saw the indigo sky filled with clouds, and focused on what few stars were visible. Felix’s voice startled her.

“It’s… his brother died yesterday. We just heard the news but Dimitri and I are out of Faerghus till next week. Sylvain just got sent home, he’ll be in Fhirdiad tomorrow morning.”

Against the flat plains of the southern border, Ingrid had always felt small and insignificant - a product of her territory, her house. Now, she felt shrunken, hideously small in the patch of land of the military base she lived in, a small blotch in the earth suffocated by the thick air. It was like the stars, massive and millions of miles away, were howling. Like the air wanted to sink her.

Ingrid said nothing. It was hard enough to breathe.

Sylvain’s relationship with Miklan was… hard to describe. It was nothing like the one between Felix and his brother, that was for sure. It was tenuous at best and downright abusive at worst, something that the Gautier family kept wrapped up. Miklan was the disinherited child, the unchosen scion, cast aside for the younger. And he resented it. He’d taken years of neglect out on Sylvain while they were growing up, until one day, he left home and that was that.

But to Sylvain, family was family and she’d promised to be always there for him. Relationship or not. She opened her mouth to tell Felix to get her the hell to Fhirdiad, but Felix didn’t give her a chance to respond. 

“We’ll send some orders your way and get you a temporary leave. Call him.”

“Okay.” The phone beeped and Ingrid stood, shaking from the unplaceable worry she felt. Then she dialed his number. 

* * *

All of her calls to Sylvain went straight through to voicemail, but she left a short message on her last try, along with a text that said the same thing.  _ I’m on my way. _

True to his word, Dimitri’s personal guard appeared a few hours after the call, delivering the news that Ingrid’s unit was to take an extra week of leave. They took her right to the airfield and put her on the first plane back to Fhirdiad.

Flights to the capital via military transport were mind numbingly boring. In contrast to the scenic, beautiful drive through the countryside, cargo planes were noisy and barren and Ingrid could barely hear her own thoughts. Tonight, it wasn’t the worst thing. 

Ingrid let her thoughts consume her as she took in the dark interior of the plane. There were a handful of occupied seats, and she chose one off to the side of the plane, against the wing, where it was loudest. The rest of the plane’s cargo bay was filled with dark crates, strapped down with paracord and secured against metal bolts. It was dark enough that she couldn’t make out the labels on them.

The last time Ingrid saw Sylvain was when they called things off officially. One last goodbye in the hotel room, barely a reunion. A few days after that, she got her orders to report to base and he got swept up in Dimitri’s entourage and that was that.

Suddenly, six months had passed. 

Ingrid wouldn’t have said that things remained weird between them. They were still close friends. They swapped friendly texts and pictures of happenings in their lives, and even the group chat with the rest of their class felt normal. She still scolded him, still rolled her eyes whenever they’d respond to the mounds of food she sent pictures of, still teased him for being too aloof. That wasn’t awkward at all.

But it was the same as their relationship had been for years. And in the few months of them dating, everything changed so suddenly and part of her missed that. Ingrid missed having all of Sylvian’s attention pointed at her. 

He was nothing if not thoughtful, even if she felt too often on the back foot, not sure what he was asking her for. That was the hardest part of dating him. Sylvain never pretended around her, but all of a sudden he stopped relying on her to solve his problems and hid what he needed and the lack of clarity changed a decade of their dynamic.

They’d at least managed to name the problem before their careers stood in the way. She finished bootcamp, and he finished his orientation to the diplomat’s corps, and they were ready to be sent off across the continent in opposite directions from each other.

It all came apart before they could really start trying. 

* * *

Over the PA, the pilot announced some turbulence, a rare occasion for military flights, and Ingrid gripped the straps above her head to keep her from falling out of her seat. The few others on the plane buckled themselves in and promptly fell asleep, but Ingrid had thought she wanted to walk around a bit. Seems like that wouldn’t be possible. 

She peeked out of the window but there was nothing to see. The plane was flying through a thick cloud. She hoped to catch glimpses of the countryside, but it was too dark to make anything out. It would have been enough to catch sight of the small farms and the rare street lamps out in the country. 

Miklan dying, now of all times, when their careers were all taking off, was as much a blessing as it was a curse. Ingrid hoped it would be a chance for Sylvain to find closure. To close a chapter of his life and surround himself with his childhood friends, who would support him to their dying breaths, and begin this one anew. But she knew it would also bring up years of guilt and torment, of familial pressure to take the up mantle of his name. None of those things were meant to be handled alone. 

A promise was a promise. They were friends forever, first and far above anything else, and a death in the family was something the four of them knew too much about. Where would she have been without Felix and Dimitri swarming her when Glenn passed? The three of them scarcely let each other out of their sights for months.

Felix had lost his brother, and Dimitri his parents in the same incident, but Glenn was  _ hers _ and it had taken her the better part of a decade to come to terms with it.

Sylvain had missed that - it was the worst of his time at home with Miklan and his father. They didn’t learn of it until they all got to the Academy a few years later, but they way she and Dimitri and Felix looked at each other and Sylvain was burned into her memory. They swore that they’d never let any of each other suffer alone again. 

Maybe that was why their short spell as more than friends sat so wrongly. It was a wedge between them, between their promises to each other. Sylvain, surely had talked about their break up with Felix and Dimitri. Ingrid hadn’t gotten the chance, and didn’t need to. 

She’d come to terms with it quickly and stuffed the rest, trusting that she’d have another decade to sort through the complicated emotions, the feelings of futility and un-remarkability the way she’d taken the better part of the last decade believing that her career was her own. That she wasn’t following in Glenn’s footsteps but carving out her own. 

Sylvain would never say that he didn’t love his family. But there was something that bothered her about imagining Sylvian being recalled home only to learn his brother had passed. He’d entrusted exactly three people in the world with the truth about their relationship and he deserved to have them there with him.

Two of them were too far away to help, and she was hours away, willing the plane to fly faster. 

At least now she knew what he would need from her. She could only hope he wouldn’t go and try to find it for himself. 

* * *

The low, rhythmic hum of the plane’s engine drowned out most of Ingrid’s worst thoughts, but one voice sat above, rearing its head whenever Ingrid caught herself drifting off to sleep. It was a horrible voice that, six months ago, had asked Ingrid to believe that Sylvain wasn't fit to settle down, or at least that it wasn’t with  _ her _ that he would.

Up until they started dating, Sylvain had always used his philandry as a mask, and the worst in Ingrid had worried that she wouldn’t be enough to keep his attention. 

The same voice begged her to imagine Sylvain in some hotel room with some catch of the night, who let him sort out his emotions without a care in the world. Or worse - spending the night with someone that could do a better job than her of helping him and understanding him. 

She gripped the straps tighter, letting them cut into her hands.

Thinking of Sylvain with other women had always made her uncomfortable, even before they dated. Thinking of Sylvain with someone who cared so little for him when he had so many weights to hold only served to pull the frown on Ingrid’s face considerably lower. He deserved someone he could bear all of himself to. 

_ I miss him _ , Ingrid admitted to herself.  _ Really miss him _ . Months of busyness had kept her from realizing it. What did it say that it took his brother’s death for her to go to see him again? She missed being there to cover for him, to protect him from bad dates and dumb choices and from himself. And she didn’t want him to need to go elsewhere for it. 

Ingrid conceded that there were probably more notches between friends and lovers and marriage than the ones they’d experimented with. They did the best they could, and she had no regrets, but some of the more delicate moments were certainly her fault

One of the last mornings they’d spent together, she’d gotten up late and rushed to get ready. Sylvain had a habit of keeping her in bed with him as long as he could, so it was normal for her to wiggle her way out of his arms and give him a kiss on the forehead and let him roll back to sleep. 

But that morning, she’d rebuffed him too harshly, snapping at his need to touch her all of the time. He’d looked like a kicked puppy, rolling over away from her in silence. By the time she made it out of the shower, he’d gotten dressed and kissed her on the cheek and went home.

Their relationship only spiraled from there, and she still hadn’t apologized. It was one of the many things on the list of things Ingrid wanted to say to Sylvain as soon as she found him.

* * *

At regular intervals, the plane’s navigation lights flashed through the window, just bright enough to reveal the thick black clouds and bounce against the reflective tape on the sides of the crates. 

The spells of turbulence, too, came in waves, and Ingrid watched as boxes and crates in the cargo bay strained against their bindings as they jerked from side to side. It was oddly soothing. No matter how hard the plane sent them flying, they would remain caught and return to their original positions.

Ingrid wished that were true of people too.

It would be simpler, at least. To return to the ways things were, and turn back life changes. But she supposed that even the crates were insulated from consequences. They were built that way - she’d seen enough military-grade equipment thrown around to know firsthand that they were meant to last.

People, not as much. Growth and change are pivotal parts of living, and relationships were no exceptions. Ingrid would never take back the time she had with Sylvain, but maybe they could have done more to prepare.

_ There was probably more I could have shared with him _ , she thought.

There was another voice whispering to Ingrid, the best of her hopes, that whispered to her.

It said that Sylvain would need her, that he would need all of them in the coming days. It justified that their friendship was stronger for the breakup, not any lesser, and that he of all people understood what she wasn’t willing to lose.

But it was hard to believe. 

The only thing she was sure of was that their friendship transcended whatever else hung in the air between them, and that she had given and would always give him her best. It was the least he deserved and the least she could offer after what the others had given to her when she was grieving her own losses. 

She could at least give Sylvain a shoulder to cry on and her body to hug and it would be enough of a stronghold to keep them in place for the moment, to shield them from the latest storm that flirted them towards disaster. 

Sylvain could let his brother’s death tear him apart. But she was confident he’d be stronger than his trauma. They’d choose each other instead, and wait for Dimitri and Felix to join them and stand at the funeral together and let it pass. 

* * *

Ingrid watched the plane’s wing foils open and close as they neared the city, and eventually, the plane descended past the clouds. Fhirdiad’s bright lights burst through the storm clouds. 

The city was beautiful. She’d always thought so. Galatea was provincial in contrast; Fhirdiad’s tall skyscrapers blazed above the warm city lights, and even as far away as she was, she could see the Royal Palace bathed in shades of blue.

The sight of it cut through Ingrid’s wandering thoughts.  _ What was it she wanted to find in Fhirdiad? _

Ingrid thought about Sylvain, staring at some wall alone in the dark. It was what he did in the moments between intense emotion and taking action. He slowed down enough to let the emotions course through him.

She wanted to be there. To sit next to him, to feel his fingers press into her side and anchor his wandering. To feel his warmth radiate against her, 

_ I want to be there when he works out these feelings _ . As he put words to his bittersweet anger at the death of his abuser. His stoic apathy about his responsibility to his name and title. 

And when he needed to let them go, to forget, to bury himself away from all of it, she wanted him to bury the feelings against her. She alone could withstand the visceral way he worked out what he felt - and Ingrid wasn’t willing to let it be with anyone else.

Not Felix, who would spar his way to peace; not Dimitri, who would take him riding until neither of them wanted to see a horse for months. 

Only her, who could offer the one thing no one else could: a night together where he wouldn’t wake up ashamed to be raw and exposed. Where he could sleep and wake up knowing he’d be loved.

_ I want to be the one he spends tonight with _ . 

The realization hit Ingrid like a river. For months she’d put loving Sylvain behind a dam, but now it burst into her consciousness, tearing at the edges of the boxes she’d placed it in. She loved him, more than anything, and six months apart was only one season of their long lives together. What was six months of not knowing how to move forward together? 

Ingrid willed the plane to fly faster, to land sooner, so that she could reach him first. 

To hell with what they couldn’t manage. With what their relationship wasn’t ready for. She would search the whole city for him, drag him away from whomever he found to comfort him and steal him for herself until the others arrived. That was the depth of the love that burned at the roots of her soul.

She pulled against the safety straps over her head, stretching them as far as they would go and braced herself against them.

_ I’m on my way, Sylvain. Wait for me. _

* * *

One of the perks of being a diplomat was having multiple options for accommodations. It helped to have the current king as a childhood best friend. Sylvain kept a room at the palace and a suite in one of the larger hotels near the row of buildings that housed foriegn embassies. But it only took Ingrid one guess to find which he was using tonight.

Sylvain also kept a small apartment in Fhirdiad, one that Ingrid had the spare key to. It was his most permanent accommodation - paid in advance for years, Sylvain kept his most memorable possessions there. His books, pictures of his family, old journals and letters he’d kept from college. 

Ingrid let herself in, leaving her muddy boots at the door. She wiped the raindrops from her skirt and threw her coat against a chair in the kitchen, leaving her in just a warm sweater. 

Unsurprisingly, Sylvain hadn’t changed much of anything in six months. It was still barely furnished. There was a large bookcase and a reading chair, and a few dim lamps left on were the only signs of life. He rarely stayed here, preferring to be out on diplomatic missions and crashing at the palace in between trips out. It was more than likely that the only food in the apartment would be canned or dry packaged stuff sitting in the pantry.

She quickly scanned the room for signs of life, and saw a trail of clothes littering the hallway. For a moment, Ingrid was worried that she’d walked into exactly what she hoped not to find. . But there was only one pair of shoes at the door, and as she flipped the hall light on, she saw the master bedroom’s door wide open and the bed empty.

_ Thank goodness _ , she thought, exhaling the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. 

* * *

The spare bedroom, however, was shut, and Ingrid knew immediately that Sylvain had holed himself up in there. It was smaller, more suited for brooding, and probably had less associations than the master. 

Ingrid walked quietly up to the door, sliding her socks against the wood floor, and paused just shy of the door. 

Unless he was asleep, he had to have heard her come in. He should have seen the light come on, and if not, she’d texted him several times as she landed, asking where he was and if he was okay. None of these earned her a reply. 

Ingrid rapped her knuckles against the dark wood of the door.

“It’s me,” she said quietly. 

There was no response.

“I’m coming in.”

She pushed the door open, spilling light into the small room, and against her shadow, she saw Sylvain laying back, limbs splayed out across the bed if he’d just fallen onto it and hadn’t bothered to move. As the light flashed onto his face, he held up a hand to block it and met her curious gaze with one of his own.

* * *

“Hey,” she said, stepping up to the foot of the bed. 

He looked… well, like he’d run himself ragged already and had precisely enough energy to lay there and wait until sleep claimed him. Hopefully she wasn’t too late. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and she couldn’t tell the state of his pants in the dark, and maybe his tryst had come and gone already.

“Hey,” he replied, voice indifferent. He closed his eyes and she couldn’t tell if he’d fallen back asleep. 

Ingrid took another step closer, sitting at the end of the mattress, biting her cheek just hard enough not to bleed. “I’m here.” 

More silence.

“Thought you’d have a date over,” she joked, trying to read the blank expression on his face. Would he want to see her after anyway? 

Sylvain’s eyebrow quirked and he opened a single eye. “Did you think I was going to sleep my way through Fhirdiad?” 

She wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. For all the held breath she’d had coming into the room, the conversation between them was anything but fragile. He’d barely acknowledged her, and Ingrid couldn’t tell whether it was a waste to visit him so late in the evening, instead of calling tomorrow.

“Were you?” she tried, gripping the edge of the mattress with her fingertips. Leave it to him to be so difficult. 

“Not anymore.” Sylvain shrugged. 

“Oh, my presence is enough to keep you sated?” Ingrid could feel her blood rising in frustration. 

Sylvain blinked. “Pfft. No, I set up a meeting with a therapist. He’ll call me tomorrow.”

Oh. That was… better. Unexpected - that he’d set up a support system for himself while traveling so much. 

She narrowed her eyes. “Then what am I even here for?” 

“What  _ are _ you here for?” Sylvain asked. He was using his searching face, the one he used when he needed to find the right move to make. Over the years he’d used it on her whenever he wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. 

“I didn’t… want you to be alone,” she said. A half truth. If Sylvain picked up on it, he didn’t show it. 

There was another spell of silence, longer than before. Longer than the last time they’d stood face to face, unsure of their next move. Like the air between them was captive to it, she could hear his slow, shaky breath and barely registered how shallow her own was. 

“Breakups really make a man think you know,” he replied, voice hard. Ingrid could tell he was biting something back and braced herself for the worst. But Sylvain just sighed, sat up, and reached out to take her hand. “I’m sorry.”

* * *

Ingrid quirked her eyebrow in surprise. “Sorry?” 

Sylvain, still an arm’s length across the bed, looked exhausted. The light spilling through the door revealed his unshaven face, and she could see sleepless bags under his eyes. 

“Yeah. I should have called you back, I… I’m doing okay, okay? Miklan’s gone and I still can’t believe that, but I’ve been seeing someone- uh, a therapist, not… uh, he’s been helping me untangle how I feel about my family. Sorry. You caught me just absorbing it all and I didn’t mean to put you off. I, uh. Yeah. . Thank you. Thank you for coming.”

Ingrid didn’t have a response. Despite his haggard look - she could finally see that he was certainly wearing pants - his eyes were genuine, blazing with kindness and she missed the way he held her hand so tenderly.

“I was worried,” she confessed. “That you’d be alone and that you’d take it out and fall back into old habits.”

There was a beat before he replied, smiling sadly. “I did it again didn’t I?”

“What?”

“I put up a wall between us sometimes. Makes it… hard for you to see what I need,” Sylvain confessed. His thumb brushed the back of her hand and Ingrid repressed the urge to pull him closer. Instead, she gripped his palm tighter, keeping them frozen at a distance. 

“I… yeah,” she admitted. 

She met his eyes and tried to hide the look of disappointment she felt thinking about what had fallen between them. Even now, on a trip to try to comfort him, Sylvain was trying to find a way to bring her what she needed. This time, she would try and let him. 

Sylvain continued, squeezing her hand back. “I didn’t mean to do that, you know. When we were dating. But I was scared. It was hard to ask you for as much as I did when we were growing up or even at the academy. Not when I was finally close enough to see how much you had to hold all at once.”

“I thought you were just bored of me.” Ingrid confessed. It was her greatest secret, one that she stuffed deep into the back of her heart. 

“Bored? Of you?” Sylvain’s look was incredulous. His fingers dug into the back of her hand. 

“Of us. You kept pulling away and I couldn’t make it stop. I thought you were just putting up more walls in between us because you didn't think it would work between us. I was hoping it was because you didn’t want to treat me like your other dates and break up with me so callously.”

Sylvain’s face grew indignant. He leaned forward and shifted until he was on his knees in the middle of the bed, hand still in hers. His sincerity, even now, hurt. Ingrid hadn’t given up on them, but until now there was no clear way forward. 

“No, no never. Not that. I’d never treat you like... “ He trailed off. “I never wanted to add to your problems Ingrid. Even now, to make you come all the way here…”

“I want to stand by you through this, Sylvain. That’s why I’m here.”

Sylvain took a moment to compose himself by staring up at the ceiling, and for a second, the light illuminated the hollow of his neck. It took everything she had not to burrow her face and wrap her arms around him.

“Then let me in too,” Sylvain said. 

“I… yeah,” Ingrid said, blinking back tears. “I figured that out on the plane, actually. We spent all our lives with me fixing things for you and I never thought that you’d like to do that for me sometimes.”

His eyes passed over hers, dropping down to where their hands met. “We needed different things from each other, as partners. I kept guessing and getting it wrong and pulling myself away out of guilt.”

“I’m here for you now. You don’t have to be alone.”  _ I’m yours _ , she wanted to say, but not yet. There would be time for that.

Suddenly, the air shifted between them. She could tell from the way Sylvain’s body tensed, and the way his fingers found the tips of hers and held on by a thread. He wanted to come closer, and Ingrid pulled her hand until his hands firmly gripped hers. 

His eyes passed over her again, this time slower, and Ingrid held back a shiver as he nodded slowly. She knew what it meant.  _ I’m opening up to you. I trust you _ .  _ Please open up to me too. _

“That’s not the only reason you’re here,” he said, perceptively.

Leave it to Sylvain to turn his grief into kindness. But he was right. It was half the reason, but the other was self serving. She wanted it to be her that got to comfort him, not anybody else. Even if all he needed was to sit here together and be silent, she wanted it to be her. Ingrid pushed back the weight in her stomach and the voices whispering images of him whispering his secrets in another person’s ears. 

”I was going to…”

* * *

Sylvain reached for her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and Ingrid blushed bright red. 

“To?” he asked. There was a question hidden beneath his words, layers of anxieties he was revealing to her.  _ Let me in.  _

But even inches from him, it was difficult. She wanted to be strong for him so that he could grieve, but he was asking for the opposite.  _ Be weak so that I can be weak. Let’s do this together. _

Truth, then. Another truth she’d kept buried for half a year, away from him and how he might see her. A truth she’d left half formed and never kept in her mouth, unless the ugly voice of doubt leaked from her voice.

“To tell you to use me instead,” she whispered.  _ I don’t want us to be finished yet _ . 

Sylvain’s grip around her waist hardened. She could feel his fingers pressing against her, fingernails just barely digging in. His eyes burned with passion not unlike the first time they trusted each other with their bodies, gingerly exploring each other’s company. 

"What are you saying Ing?”

_ That I love you _ , she wanted to say. _ That I want to give you everything and more. _

“I thought you’d need me more than you do. The whole time on my way here, I was wondering,” she said, hovering her lips just inches from his ear. “If I’d find you here with some date you took home and have to get my heart broken again.”

“Thank you for being here,” he whispered, almost absentmindedly. 

Despite his layers, Sylvain was sometimes a terribly simple man to read, and she knew just how to send him into heat.

“I want you to use me like you would have used whoever you brought home. I’m yours,” she said.  _ Cross another line with me. _

“Use you?” Sylvain said, his fingers slowly drawing circles on her hip. “How carnal.”

There was a dumb grin on his face, and Ingrid wanted to kiss it off of him. 

“Shush,” she said, turning her head around to face him. “We can talk about what this means… later, Sylvain, I promise. I want to. But the King of Faerghus sent me all the way here to make sure you’re okay.”

Sylvain’s smile turned into a grimace. “Please don’t invoke Dimitri in the bedroom.”

“Then take me,” she challenged. 

Sylvain rolled his eyes but complied, mumbling, “you make me sound like a sex addict.” 

Then, he sat up. For a moment, Ingrid thought she would be devoured. Against the dim, single beam of light from the hallway, arms fully extended as he reached for her, Sylvain looked celestial. His arms were bathed in light, which hugged the lean curve of his biceps although her body cast a shadow against his. 

His hands gathered her face, thumbing her lips before his own descended on her. Sylvain’s kiss had always been one of the things she missed most. Each kiss held a dozen words, and every phrase was an admission or declaration. This one was an apology.  _ I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you alone all these months. _

It was her that should be apologizing - she should have been here sooner, should have found out how to make it work between them. But the depth of his touch made it easy to forget, to sink into his promises and follow where he took her.

Was this how he approached his trysts? With such overwhelming fervor? If so, she was willing to withstand the barrage of his affections. Heat was coiling beneath her belly and only Sylvain would do to satisfy it.

* * *

Sylvain tugged her by the hip, laying her flat on the bed below him, watching as he pushed her legs to the side. He left her skirt half hiked so that the tops of her thighs were exposed to the cold air, and swung one leg over hers. 

Ingrid could feel him pressed against the side of her hip. There was no question, at least, whether he missed her as much as she’d missed him. The way he brushed himself against her was proof enough.

She gripped his arm and his back as the hand on the side of her hip trailed up and down her side. Sylvain was strong - half his weight rested on one arm so that the other could be free to touch her, and she stole a glance at the muscles of his arms, flexisign to hold his body above hers. 

Ingrid wanted him to come undone. To touch him and watch his anxieties disperse at her hand. But he kept himself out of her reach, just too far away to find a firm grip on his groin.

Instead, he kissed her with such tender ferocity that Ingrid almost forgot where she was. His warm hands stole a touch underneath her sweater, making her gasp as he grazed the side of his fingernail against her ribs.. He retreated away, over the soft cotton, tracing the cup of her bra until he reached her sweater’s neckline. His fingers slipped underneath, softly pressing into the skin just under her collarbones.

The light teases put her at ease, helping her focus on the need building at her center. Ingrid pressed her thighs together, hoping to create enough friction to relieve the urging of her core. 

Sylvain, thankfully noticed her efforts. His hand trailed lower and lower, teasing at the hem of her skirt, and Ingrid drove her hips against his hand, signaling for him to touch her. Whether he received the message or not was uncertain.

He was moving devilishly slow. He yanked her skirt higher so that it pooled at her hips and found a handful of her thigh and  _ squeezed _ . It was perfect, except that his hand was just inches too far away. She twisted to try to catch the edge of his hand against her core, but before she could reach, the feeling of Sylvain’s hand disappeared.

Ingrid scarcely had a moment to feel disappointment. 

_ Smack!  _ His hand smacked the same spot he’d just been holding, and Ingrid let out a breathy whimper. She could feel Sylvain grinning against her cheek as he ground against her hip bone.

_ Smack _ ! He did it again. The heat was pooling between her legs, and she needed him to touch--- 

Sylvain’s kisses moved down her neck and she grabbed a fistful of her hair as a shiver of pleasure seized her.

“Sylvain, please…” she said, whining at his touch.

“Mmmm?” he breathed against the column of her neck. 

“Please, touch me,” she whispered. His fingers drew circles around her thigh, brushing barely against her underwear.

Sylvain pulled back from his kisses to look at her in the eye.

“Then strip for me,” he said, and Ingrid nodded furiously.

Sylvain sat up and waited for her to pull the sweater over her head and throw it against the wall to the side of the room. She unhooked her bra, but before she could remove her skirt, Sylvain caught her hand.

“Let me.”

He helped her pull her panties down and stripped his own pants and underwear and straddled her. Sylvain was handsome. Despite all of the travel, he kept his body fit, and Ingrid followed the V of his torso with her eyes. In the dim light, she could see the beginnings of perspiration making his well defined core glisten as light touched it.

He put on a condom and settled over her. As soon as he did, Ingrid instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him tight against her.

Sylvain ground against her slowly, and every inch of contact made her grip his back with the tips of her fingers. She wanted to scratch him, urging him to move faster. His arms, holding most of his weight, framed her head and she could follow the swell of his triceps holding his weight.

“Please, please inside, come inside” she said, whimpering at another long, slow pass.

Sylvain smiled at her.

“No.”

* * *

Ingrid’s heart sank. Was he thinking twice about this? Was sleeping with an ex too far across the line for Sylvain, who thought carefully and earnestly about each of his relationships? 

But his smile didn’t disappear - it widened, and Ingrid could tell he had something in mind. 

Instead of grinding against her, he shook her legs off, forcing her to unwrap them from his waist.

Then he sat back, put his hand on her right hip, and nudged her until she got the hint.

“On your knees,” he commanded.

_ Oh.  _

Ingrid obeyed, flipping so that her back was facing him and her hands rested against the slim wooden headboard at the top of his bed. She could tell that he was hypnotized, mouth agape, without even looking. 

He’d never asked her for this - even after they’d finished fumbling through the awkwardness of sleeping together for the first time, he’d always taken her in conservative, standard positions.

Ingrid turned her head to look at him anyway, and found his eyes focused on the curve of her neck.

“Like this?” she asked, shaking her hips until his eyes dropped.

The look on his face told her that he planned to fuck her against the mattress without apology and  _ god _ did she want him to. She pulled her hips back until her ass was up against him, and Sylvain hiked her skirt up and pressed himself against her. 

The light touch was enough to make Ingrid’s legs shake underneath her. Sylvain took the opportunity to press his lips against the side of her neck.

His hands found the front of her thighs and he dragged them slowly, pulling her until there was no space in between them. Ingrid’s thrust hips backwards, feeling him rest between her legs. 

One hand slid up her torso to her breast, cupping it gently. Sylvain rolled the peaks of them gently and his other hand, finally,  _ finally _ found her center and grazed against her gently. 

“God…” the touch sent a heated wave through Ingrid and she jerked against his hand, craving contact. “More, more.”

“Beg for me,” Sylvain responded, a whisper against her ear, and Ingrid bit her tongue to stop herself. He lined himself up and pushed, slowly, languishly, achingly into her. Ingrid’s fingers gripped the headboard until they were burning.

She could feel every inch of him inside of her, her body stretching to accommodate him, until he buried himself as deep as he could. She was trembling from the pleasure , sweat beads forming on her chest, waiting patiently for Sylvain to fuck her.

He put his hands on her hips and began to rock his hips, still slowly, evenly, burying himself until his hips met the curve of her ass and withdrawing until he was barely inside of her at all. 

One hand wound itself in her hair and pulled, and she leaned into the ache as he sank fully inside of her again and again. She loved it, loved the way his hands and hips and chest touched as much of her as she could, pushing her entire body into a feverish burn.

Ingrid couldn’t stifle the sounds she made. With no pillow to muffle her, she moaned against him until Sylvain’s other hand thumbed her lips again. He slipped his index finger into her mouth and she bit it to hold the sounds back. 

The mattress thudded against the headboard in rhythm, and she stole a glance at Sylvain.

He looked ready to devour her.

She’d never seen him so heated. Between the emotions and the fact that he usually stuffed all of this in and let pieces of himself go, it was something else to see such a wild picture of him.

Every touch of their hips sent a ripple of pleasure through Ingrid, and she could feel her heart racing.

_ Take it out on me Sylvain. I want to give you everything you need. I know we had troubles before but… this is too important. You are too important. _

Sylvain’s grunts grew louder, and Ingrid could tell he was close. He let go of her hair and found her hips again, digging his fingers in, pressing his fingernails until it just barely hurt.

His ragged groans were music to Ingrid’s ears. His thrusts grew shallower and more frantic until his lips found the spot right behind her ears, and she could hear him whispering her name.

A prayer. Sylvain kissed it into her skin, his soft murmurs a  _ selah _ , her name a word of worship.

“Ing, Ing I…” he whispered, trailing off as she arched her back against him as he bottomed out inside of her.

“I’m yours Sylvain,” she said through cries of her own. “Take me.”

It was all he needed. Sylvain broke at her words, voice cracking as he cried out her name. He finished as he buried himself deep, forcing his breath to slow down, until he could extract himself, collapsing backwards on the bed.

Ingrid, finally, released her grip on the headboard and laid down on her back.

Sylvain crawled to her side, brushing his thumb against her jaw. His eyes were wild, even as he calmed down.

Ingrid smiled at him.

“Love you Sylvian,” she said.

Sylvain recovered enough to press his lips to hers.

“Love you too Ing. But I’m not done with you yet.”

* * *

Ingrid raised her eyebrow as a question, and Sylvain’s hand found her hip and slid it right to where her legs met her hips, sending a shock of lightning through her body.

She’d been close earlier, but not quite there, and Sylvain knew it. It was just like him to not forget about her own climax.

His fingers crossed the gap and slid against her sex, quickly working, until Ingrid’s breathy moans filled the room.

She was content to finish like this - with Sylvain’s body curled against her side, his lips at worship against her neck and jaw, and his fingers sliding in and out of her. He was magnificent, teasing her in three places at once, keeping her guessing where his attention would fall next.

But Sylvain had other ideas.

His head dipped to kiss her at the hollow of her throat, and peppered her with dirty kisses, breaking the capillaries at the surface of her skin and leaving a splotchy trail of red down her bust.

Each love bite was a sharp electric jolt that brought her closer and closer to the edge.

Then Sylvain shifted until his head was below her waist and kissed her on the hip bone, making Ingrid gasp loudly. She bit her own hand to contain her voice, but Sylvain drew it out of her, all but biting the sensitive skin at her hip.

He pulled himself between her legs and slipped his finger out of her, quickly replacing it with his tongue. Her fists, again, seized his hair as he gave her a long, slow lick. The feeling of his tongue against her forced goosebumps to erupt on Ingrid’s arms.

She couldn’t help but push his head down, forcing his lips around her sex, his tongue to lap at her.

Ingrid’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, hips raising up from the bed as she pushed his head down, manipulating it with her grip on his hair. Sylvain, ever the adept, responded by hooking his arms under her legs, locking himself at her service.

“God, Sylvain, god, more,” she cried, burning with every touch.

Her thighs clenched around his head, trapping him against her, forcing him to rise and fall as she lifted up off of the bed and back down with every gorgeous, wonderful pass of his tongue.

The heat at the center of Ingrid’s core spread, down through the veins in her hips and the nerves at the edge of her toes and through her stomach and Sylvain’s face was against her, exactly where she needed him and  _ god _ she was letting him in, lost against his body, her ankles locked behind his head as she squeezed her legs and used his head to fuck her right where she needed him to and ---

Hysteria; Ingrid shut her eyes tight and convulsed as all of the tension in her body released at once, waves of overwhelming pleasure as she rode Slyvain’s lovely, lovely mouth to her climax.

“hhhhhmmmmmmmm,” Ingrid cried, biting her lips to try to contain herself and failing.

Her hips rolled against him, again and again until the wave ebbed and retreated, leaving Ingrid breathless and soaked wondering if Sylvain could still breathe. She curled her toes to test whether the feeling was returning to her body.

She looked down to meet his eyes and shivered. 

He’d never looked so pleased in his life - a wet, sticky grin on his face as he unhooked one arm and pressed a thumb against her lips in lieu of a kiss.

He rested his cheek against her thigh to breathe, and Ingrid swore he’d have done it again if she let him.

She’d never crumbled for him like that before. She slid her palm to cup his cheek.

“I love you Ingrid,” he said, panting. “Please never leave.”

Ingrid found his hand, took his fingers and put it up to her lips and kissed it.

“I’m yours. Everything I have is yours,” she replied. “I love you.”

* * *

They cleaned up in the master bathroom, taking turns with the sink for a quick rinse; Sylvain wiped his face with a towel and let her shower first while he prepared a snack for her.

Ingrid let the cold water wash the sweat and slick from her body and massaged the tight muscles that had seized during sex.

One night wouldn’t be the end of their issues, nor the resurrection of their relationship, and one conversation minutes into seeing each other for the first time in half a year wouldn’t create the kind of vulnerability they both needed to make it work.

But somehow, without knowing, Sylvain met every fear and worry she’d kept wrapped up and buried in the depths of her heart. His touches, which spoke wordless expressions, and his gaze, fixed solely on her, resonated deeper in her heart and for the first time in their decades long friendship, Ingrid felt like she understood the secret language he’d been using.

_ I’m not the same without you _ , he’d said as he held her in his arms. 

_ I am not worthy of you, yet I am yours _ , when he’d fucked her from behind while making sure every inch of him that could touch her was pressed against her skin.

_ I want more than we thought we had, _ while she used his face against her sex, making her come with more force than she thought possible.

All of that and more was enough. They’d talk tomorrow - talk about his family, about his brother, about life at the edge of Fhiridad and his trips abroad to Derdriu and Enbarr. About what Felix and Dimitri would bring as tokens of their trip, and where to eat with the four of them. About what was next for them and how they would manage loving each other across the continent at separate posts.

They would have fights and resolve them, and ask Byleth, maybe, or someone older and wiser how to learn to talk and love and make the most of what time they would have to spend together.

But tonight, she would eat and rest in his arms and fall asleep warm and pleased.

Ingrid stepped out of the shower and dried herself before walking through the small arch that connected the master bathroom to the bedroom, taking care to step on the small bath rugs on the floor and avoid the cold tile under her feet.

Sylvain was waiting for her with a plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and kissed her when she walked up to the bed, blonde hair dripping onto the carpet.

“Sorry I don’t keep much in this place,” he said, passing her the plate, then standing up. He pressed a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Meet you in bed in a few.”

“Hey,” Ingrid called out just before he was out of arm’s reach. Sylvain turned back to face her, his eyes bright and gleaming. “Forever, Sylvain.”

Ingrid linked her pinkes, plate balanced precariously on her thumb and forefinger, and pulled them softly, not releasing the grip.

“Forever, Ing,” he said, ruffling her hair before stepping away, firm ass in full view as he walked towards the shower.

Ingrid sat against the bed and took a bite of her sandwich. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is sunni's fault, because she enabled me.
> 
> this is also emu's fault; i was so mad during ch3 of Champagne, Wine, and Vodka that I came up with this concept and yelled about it with sunni and here we are.
> 
> this is also the sylvgrid server's fault, for enabling this. thanks night for inspiring us, nicole and mish and ash and others who have been so encouraging. its my longest single chap fic ever! thank you! 
> 
> pleaASE drink water.


End file.
